Whiplash
by chrissie0707
Summary: Missing Scene for 13X06 "Tombstone." Dean is almost childlike in his glee at the thought of pursuing a hunt in Dodge City, but Sam is having a tough time seeing past the fact his brother is still wearing the clothes he DIED in.


**Whiplash**

* * *

"All right. Well, two salty hunters, one half-angel kid, dude that just came back from the dead." Dean tilts his head, considering. "Again. Team Free Will 2.0. Here we go."

Sam watches his brother leave the room with narrowed eyes, his heart pounding a trippy, anxious rhythm the others _must_ be able to hear.

 _Dude that just came back from the dead. Again._

Casually, like he was delivering the punchline to a bad joke.

Except Sam knows that this is anything but a joke, because Castiel isn't the only one who just came back from the dead.

Again.

Both Cas and Jack are watching him with curious eyes, so Sam's poker face is clearly shot. He tries to compensate, offers them a smile that feels too wide and false as it stretches across his face. "Hold that thought."

He hurries to catch up to his brother, who's heading down the corridor toward his room with uneven footsteps and reaching up with a heavy-seeming hand to rub at the back of his head.

"Dean, wait up."

Sam honestly doesn't know and can't tell whether Dean ignores the call or is so off-kilter that he doesn't hear. He closes the distance in a few long strides and grabs his brother's elbow, swings him too easily around in the narrow hallway.

To his credit, Dean seems more surprised than pissed. He drops his arm, raises his eyebrows. "What's up?"

Sam keeps his voice low, knowing enough to know this isn't a topic of conversation fit for the entire class. "What are you doing?"

His brother jerks his chin in the direction of the garage. "I say we swap out the ghost gear for the zombie gear and hit the road." He glances at his watch, squints as he runs the calculations in his head. "We can be in Dodge City by breakfast."

Dean is almost childlike in his glee at the thought of pursuing a hunt in Dodge City, but Sam is having a tough time seeing past the fact that his brother is still wearing the clothes he DIED in.

He takes a breath. "Whoa, whoa, just – pump the brakes, man. Let's talk about this."

"Talk about what?" Dean crosses his arms, shrugs his shoulders. "Sounds to me like the kid caught us a case."

Sam's feeling light-headed and unsteady, suffering the effects of some kind of emotional whiplash. His brother seems to have pulled a complete one-eighty since they left Grand Junction. Physically speaking, he still looks like the expected amount of shit for someone who was just brought back to life by the questionable contents of a syringe, but there's also a welcome spark in his eyes, and a life back in his tone that is _so_ damn good to hear.

He almost gives in and just lets the jackass have his way, because he can't stand to lose that spark again, but then Sam remembers the coolness of Dean's skin as he lay dead in that house, and the lifeless way he'd confessed "I don't know" at the car. Like there wasn't a damn thing left in the world he could make sense of or believe in, and Sam's not ready to sweep all of that under the rug so easily. He owes his brother more, and better, than that.

He raises both hands. "You're right. This sounds like it's probably a case, and we can't ignore that, but I also can't let you ignore the fact that you _died_ less than twenty-four hours ago, Dean." Quickly, like pulling off a Band-Aid, and it still stings to say the words out loud.

 _We'll talk about it later._

 _We WON'T talk about it later. You know that._

Dean stares back at him, doesn't respond. There's some defiance in the glare, and the faintest hint of fear.

Because Dean hadn't just made an admission to Sam in Grand Junction but to himself, too. He'd made it _real_ , and traditionally, when Dean drops an emotional bomb like that, he pushes himself further, and harder, keeping the reality of what he's admitted at bay by any means necessary and for as long as possible, until it takes him down so hard he can't get back up. Not by himself.

Sam's no stranger to such self-destructive behavior. He'd done the exact same thing in Madison, with Mom.

But not stopping – not properly _dealing_ – left him in a haunted house with a brother who dropped to one knee and stuck a needle in his own chest and didn't take a breath for nearly five minutes.

Sam had taken a lengthy shift at the wheel on the return trip yesterday, but whatever fitful, broken dozing his brother managed in the car during those hours doesn't TOUCH the sort of recovery time Dean's body has to be screaming for. _Sam's_ beat, and he didn't have his heart stopped and restarted.

He's only asking for one night.

He runs a hand through his hair, releases a long breath. "Look, Dean, it was a long day, and it's been a long night, and I know there's a lot to process with Cas being back, and – "

"Cas being back is a good thing, Sam." Sam doesn't miss the way his brother's expression tightens, or the fist Dean tries to nonchalantly press against his chest. "Let's not look the gift horse in the mouth on this one, huh?"

"I'm with you," Sam replies patiently.

"Then what are you saying?" Dean's eyes are wide, almost manic in his white face. It's artificial adrenaline, Sam knows, or whatever the hell was in that syringe. Probably something much worse. Whatever it is, it's a lie, a deception, and if his brother can't be trusted to listen to what his body is telling him then he's damn well going to listen to what Sam is telling him.

"I'm saying you need _sleep_ , Dean. I'm saying this case can wait until morning."

It takes a beat, but his brother finally sighs and scrubs a hand over his pale face. "Yeah, okay. I could probably use a few hours, I guess."

 _Or a few days._ Sam nods, fights to keep his enthusiasm out of the motion.

"All right." Dean looks down the hall in direction of his room, then back toward the library where Jack and Cas are waiting. His shoulders are already slumping, in weariness or defeat. Likely a bit of both.

"I got it," Sam says quickly. "I'll let 'em know we'll head out first thing. You just…" He waves a hand. "Go crash, man. Seriously."

"Yeah. Okay. Don't let me sleep too late."

"Scout's honor."

"This is gonna be awesome," Dean says around a drunken grin.

Sam nods, then carefully watches his brother retreat down the hall.

Castiel coming back now is either the best thing that could have happened for Dean, or the worst timing in the world. Because while having his friend back could be just what he needs to walk himself back from the edge, it might also be the perfect opportunity for him to pretend that he didn't just do exactly what he just did.

And Sam has a horrible, sinking feeling that's exactly what's going to happen.

* * *

 _Author Note/Opinion: I didn't HATE this episode. In fact, if the things that happened last week hadn't happened, it would have been an acceptable Monster-of-the-Week ep. Except the things that happened last week DID happen, and watching these two episodes back to back gave me a bit of emotional whiplash, myself._


End file.
